When the stars go blue and her eyes are on you
by Kismet's Kiss
Summary: Half of a heart can never hope to live on alone for too long.  The Evans Twins.  Oh, how the days are endless, without you.  The Finale Chapter.  Rypay, don't like, don't read.
1. Better

**Category/Show & Stance: High School Musical: one-shot, multi-chapter, WIP, so who knows? **

**Pairing: Hm, a Rypay. Need I say more?**

**Rating: T? Rating may change later. And my vocab isn't the nicest it could be. **

**Warning: You 12 year olds probably wouldn't understand this, so turn back NOW.**

**Shout out to jannikajade and SoulmatesDC, My Stephy & Mally (haha –gets shot-) You guys made (or will be making coughMalhurryupcough) HM stories for me, read and review my craptastic stories and just are all made of win.**

**I love you guys.**

**-**

You go to bed every night telling yourself that it will get better, that in the morning when the birds start chirping and the sun starts beaming, it will, eventually, get better. And when you open your eyes and you strain and pull and flex and stretch you form a smile because you think, it's all better.

And then, you see, it's not at all any better.

So, when you swing your legs over and you walk on down the hall, you shuffle about the house as silent as can be and you brush your teeth, wash your face, fix your hair to perfection and give off that dazzling, fake smile, you think, maybe today, you'll think once again, will get better.

Because she was sleeping right beside you last night and she was gone in the morning, _again_. Because, you can still smell her scent upon your sheets, your shared pillow, your skin and you keep telling her, if you're going to leave in the middle of the night, shut the door and yet she never does.

You sometimes like to think it's an open invitation for you to follow her, but you never do, because you're sleeping or at least, you lead her to believe that you are and then you stay there awake, watching the ceiling, hearing the soft creek of the center floorboard right before her bedroom door and you think, maybe, tonight, she'll come back, sleep with you till morning and face the situation head on.

But she never does.

So, when you meet and greet the 'rents and you give your mother the daily kiss upon the cheek and your father asks, after you have taken the time to elaborately get your outfit down to every spec of perfection that you possibly could, most likely because _she_ would accept nothing less _but_ perfection, to fix your hat, just a little bit straighter. You look at her and you smile, "Good Morning Shar." And she smiles right back. "Morning, Ry."

And there's that look within her eye that you know is solely just for you, not Troy, not for Ms. Darbus, not for anyone else but you. So, as she says "Come on Ry." And you straighten your shoulders and wave goodbye to the people whom you fear disappointing but know, eventually, you will, you follow her to the car, you warm at her touch when she places her hand over yours and you prepare yourself for another day of scheming, lying and pretending, all to make her happy.

This really, when you think about it, is quite selfish, because, seeing her happy, makes you happy.

And all you really care about is being happy, if only, for a fleeting moment.

-

**Might continue this, because I'm dumb like that and I willingly totally ignore the abundance of other WIP I have currently to attend to. **

**If your into this kind of stuff, cough_incest_cough and Disney, Yay! Check out my profile and stories, I range from Hannah Montana, (yeah, you heard right) to Life with Derek, but the latter isn't really incest, but we like to state as such, to give idiots reason to fuss. **


	2. Hero

**Hmm, a quick update, it would seem. Well, compare to all my other stories and **_**their **_**updates. hah. Doesn't everyone just LOVE Rypay?**

**-**

She glides across the halls with an air of confidence, superiority and dominance. No one can deter her from her sights and no one dares refute her claims of seniority within the drama and social life of East High.

She always seems to have a hidden agenda, behind every smile, behind every frown, behind every word that laces her lips and rolls of her tongue, _that delicious, sweet tasting tongue_, there is something in it for the inner workings of her mind, something for her to gain at the end of the day.

She, like most girls, likes pink. She likes it obsessively much actually. She wears the color on every fashion accessory, on every inch of fabric within her attire she possibly could without blinding lesser mortals, she has a car that's simply pink, and even her underwear are pink.

[Maybe that's not something a brother should know.

She doesn't _want_ the star basketball wannabe singer, Troy; the hero of all there is to be claimed by a hero. She simply _needs_ him, in a way that many girls don't _need_ a guy.

She needs him to make her _feel_. She needs him to reassure herself that the ache in her stomach, the dazzle in her eyes, and the light headedness of weary pleasure doesn't come from me, her brother, but from a regular male, leading a regular life that will hopefully lead her to a regular relationship with a regular marriage and regular children because we both know, there is no 'regular' when it comes to us.

She's desperate.

So, she plans and schemes, fights and connives, she hurts others because she herself is hurting, too. And like they always say, **M**isery **L**oves **C**ompany.

She envies.

Envies Gabriella for her flawless skin and perfect complexion and perfect, completely non abnormal life and completely regular affections for someone whom _isn't_ related to her, and then she smiles and thinks of a plan to not crush her, but her perfect existence, bring her back down to the field of reality and show her, because she's a _good_ friend, how tough life can be and how she should brace herself for it.

She's broken.

Because things can be worst than losing a boyfriend over a mere miscommunication, knowing full well that he will still walk through fire to get to you again. Because things can be _much_ worst than losing the chance to compete at some random, fleeting spontaneous idea of a musical because you had sparks fly with a boy whom, you guessed it, could sing in harmony with you.

Because things could be much worst when the only thing you know is normal for you, your voice, your talent, your acting and drama productions, is being torn away from you, and as you fight back to regain that glory you lose that other, more important thing about you-that is, the _abnormal _part about you, a part that is fading away because you just pushed too hard this time.

So, she cries and her heart breaks because maybe, just maybe, she would rather have that abnormal part of her life still intact than all the glory of the shiny, glamorous, _fabulous_ life.

She doesn't want all the benefits a hero brings, all the while having to do the right thing. She doesn't look upon a crowd and wait for their praise and complete adoration of her kindly ways. Instead, she demands respect for her hard work and dedication, and she forces all to realize things just don't happen in your favor and sometimes life is a _bitch._

She likes to put people in their place, make them realize, once again, she _is_ Sharpay Evans. She fought for this, whatever _this_ is at the time, and no one is going to steal it right from under her because they thought it would be a good 'ole time and we were '**all in this together'**.

She is a young female, with a big dream, with a big heart frozen three times over by ice. She likes the autumn only because it's the closest weather to represent pink besides the heat of the summer, she is my twin sister, she is me, and I am her, just trailing behind a few feet away.

People may smile or back away in fear at her approaching being, say something to the wind about her demeanor, about their true feelings towards her, but she keeps her head high and she smirks with malicious yet sweet eyes for she is on her way to make another person possibly cry.

And everyone sees her as the antagonist of this pre-production of a life, a show that I know someone watches from up above, or down below or right across as I watch her, her every move, her every word, her every fleck of emotion that transpires across her eyes as she plays the part she was given so perfectly, you can't help but agree that she was born for it.

_Oh_...But don't you see? She's not a villain, she's just an anti-hero.


	3. A Novel between a girl and a boy

**I'm updating most of my 'little' stories before I go on break, so yaya! This fit it my schedule, hurrah!**

**Also, speaking of Yaya's, Divine Secrets of the YaYa Sisterhood? (Spelt it right, right?) Someone, go check the schedule, and tell me when and what channel it's playing on, I want to see the movie again, now. **

**-**

She reads, I've seen her.

She puts on glasses, curls up into an upright fetal position, lets her beautiful hair hang down loose with its endless tresses and reads as though she has not a care of the world.

Romance novels, usually, is her preference. Sometimes she reads mystery and suspense and I can't help but think she's trying to find the perfect crime with plans to make Gabriella the victim. I laugh at the absurdity of the thought directly after and find, unfortunately, the laugh comes uneasy.

The way she flips through the pages makes my heart ache, she's so gentle with each turn, with the paper that holds no feeling and would hold no remorse if she decided to rip it in two as opposed to when she carelessly cuts my heart in half, not another thought on it.

But here she is, gently caring for this inanimate object while I stand off to the corner, wishing I was that book, and there she is, her brows drawing together in consternation, her cheek bones clenching in hardness, frustration, and it's obvious she's just read something that doesn't quite make sense.

And I can't help but think, its _love_ she just doesn't quite get.

-

Sometimes she doesn't sleep. Not a wink.

Sure she gets tired, and sure she finds this inconvenient-after all, losing out on sleep decreases the beauty of her complexion. Along side that she runs the risks of receiving bags under her eyes, her usual prep and perk, her nasty attitude dwindles down somewhat from the lack of energy, and most times, it's the night before a big show or rehearsal.

And yet, there's nothing she can do to stop it.

I stay up with her those nights, but I don't think she notices. I have her in m arms and my breathing is steady, I've mastered it so that she's fooled easily in to thinking that my eyes are really closed and I'm really sound asleep instead of watching her intently, but Sharpay is no fool and I know she knows I'm awake.

I think she prefers it this way.

Me watching from afar, silently.

She slips on her rob and gets up from the bed as quiet as can be on these nights. She quickly looks over her shoulder and then proceeds to walk to the far end of my room. My desk lamp goes on and the novel she's come in with is picked up again and she rereads the line she last read before she mounts me and she looks over again.

Wondering if she's done everything right.

The female wanders into the male's room, she's desperate and they've just been in a fight, she almost lost her life but he saved her, she stubbornly denies that she needed his help because in this day and age there are no more _true_ damsel in distress, just some chic with bad luck needing a guy to rescue her, and so they go to their separate rooms but the lust that drives them together overcomes them and-

And that's when Sharpay comes into my room.

She's a great actress, she really is. Reenacting is her favorite.

So, as she nods her head and smiles at herself, she smiles too at my seemingly sleeping form, letting me know I played my part right. After all, she left the book around more than enough times for me to read my role, and then she gets up to leave back to her room, door ever open and yet this time, I get up to follow.

After all, that's what the male lead in this play is supposed to do next.

And I'm merely a role in her grand scheme of things.


	4. Endless Days

**I had to finish this off, NaNoWrimo is coming up.**

**Maybe sometime in the future I might go back to Rypay or put out some one-shots, so always be on the lookout, lovelies.**

**-**

**Endless Days-**

**-**

Have you ever had the sun in your eyes while a blurred image approached you and your heart skips and you don't quite know why but you hope and _pray_ it's that _one_ thing you've been waiting for all your life?

And then you're shattered because it's the exact opposite.

Please, tell me, I am not alone.

Have you ever loved someone so much you convince yourself it's not a sin?

Even when you know it is.

Please, I beg _you_, tell me-you love me.

Have you ever thought that maybe, just maybe, if you were good enough, if you tried enough-if you succeeded in every way possible to make that one person smile that just _once_ they, in turn, would look at you (not through you) and say, "…" (You fill in the lines; this story is about _you_, too).

All that you wanted to hear.

But the hours just keep going, and the clock just keeps ticking and the days are longer, in the winter and the nights are much colder, in the winter and the lights on the windows and doors and everyone's caroling just keep ringing and under the covers, we lay and she just keeps coming-

_And_ **I** _think_ **I'm** _going_ **to** _d_**i**_e_.

When they ask me, "What do you want for Christmas, Ducky?" (Honey, don't call him that-put your hat on straight, son.) You understand why I can't simply say "my sister" right?

Because it's _wrong._

Tch, what's wrong nowadays anyways?

Does anyone see it as wrong when a hot-shot basketball star and geeky extraordinaire new girl try to take over the _one_ thing my sister has?

No.

It's just the start of something new. (And she's eventually left with nothing-but me.)

Does anyone see it as _wrong_ when Troy, the star, prostitutes himself (basically) to try and get that college fund? - Oh, wait, they do. So, they riot and stop being his friend and he so heroically (She hates heroes, remember? So why does she love _him!_) gives up his future for them because friends are more important.

Life lesson.

She laughs at this and I can understand why. _Nothing_ is more important than your goals and dreams and the self preservation to obtain it.

Now, is that wrong? Is it really so wrong to want something more than life itself because –without- it, life is all in all, meaningless?

Why not relate love with that? Isn't love the most sacred of sacred?

Just because other people deem the relationship unsuitable does it really take away the fact that love _is_ love? And it can't be helped?

These are the musings of a desperate man indeed.

-

--Looking in from the outside--

He stands there, waiting. Her hand is on his back and she's bending over, hair's tickling his neck, breath on his cheek.

"_I'm sorry"_

--Cheers to the Beginning of the End--

It's not that I didn't love him.

I simply just loved him too much.

_He's breathing. _

Possibly,

Too much to bear-

_He's reaching._

It's not _my_ fault we were born twins.

_There's nothing there._

It's not…my fault…

_Nothing _is ever there.

_You were the one, Ry. You were always the one… _

The winds mock me with its' sweet endearments. **Mock me** **not**. Witness to insanity, a crisis not to face, makes no sense, hide behind the veil of anonymity, yet present...witness to insanity...

As I bow, won't you applaud me?

It was truly a masterpiece, to love one you dared not love-to come all this way only to fall-to raise back up from the ashes of your burnt remains, to love again-anew, only to realize-it's just an act.

The world is my stage.

And he was just my co-star.

He knows this.

He -_knows-_ this.

_**I **_know this.

So, Mother? Father?

-

Why can't I stop acting when the lights go out?

-

--Looking out from the Inside--

Nothing ever compares to the thrill and bubbling sensation from a standing ovation. Bow once, Bow twice, throw your kisses to crowd, Dahl, the world is yours. The halls are a little unfocused and sweat is beading down your forehead-you're tired, a job well done-you gave it your all.

You're looking for that one person-_even though he was right beside you_-to share and bask in the glow of another magnificent performance and yet, when you get down to the last place within your search-you stand alone.

All alone, now.

And tonight was your last performance for the year, too.

You laugh.

Because hands enwrap your skinny waist and you lean back with a smile into his strong chest-his dark brown hair, easy locks to run your hands through are tickling your face as you nuzzle nose to nose, and his eyes-so haunting, so completely in love with you.

Oh wait,_ his_ hair is not brown.

But you hold on regardless, because the golden haired love of your dreams is no more.

Oh, but don't worry. You'll be soon to follow.

_You don't fight it; you haven't fought for a long time coming._

For when the stars go blue and his eyes are on you-

**:Tears flow:**

Half of a heart can never hope to live on alone for too long.

-

Oh, how the days are endless, without you.

-

**I let this ambiguous for a purpose. Make your assumptions, leave your reviews. Love you all and much thanks for sticking with it till the bitter end.**

**Hehe.**


End file.
